Ginger
by ThunderClouds7
Summary: Everyone knows that the Doctor has always wanted to be ginger, but he's never lucky enough to regenerate as one. So one day, he decides to take matters into his own hands and, despite Donna thinking it's a very bad idea, dye his hair red. One shot


"Oi, Doctor!" Donna yelled urgently, bellowing at the top of her lungs and scanning the spacious room of the TARDIS.

A loud thud echoed from underneath the console, followed by a sharp yelp of pain. The Doctor appeared next to her, clutching his head. "I'm right here, Donna, there's no need to shout!"

"Sorry," she said as he continued to grumble about his aching head. "I wanted to know if we could go get something to eat; I'm starving."

The Doctor stared at her incredulously, brown hair sticking up in five million directions. "_That's_ why you were bellowing for me?" He shook his head. "I thought you were going to say we were being attacked or something!"

She shook her head. "Nope. So, can we?"

He sighed and reached out to grasp a lever on the console. He twisted a glowing knob, slammed down on the lever, and punched a big red button. With a shudder and a jerk, the TARDIS whirled away.

The Doctor snagged his long coat as he ran for the door. He flung them open and stepped grandly out into the bright summer sunlight. "Ah, London!" he exclaimed grandly, grinning. "Wait, no." He paused, squinting as he looked around. "No, yes! It _is_ London!"

Donna stepped out of the TARDIS and shut the doors. "Good job, spaceman."

The Doctor ignored her. He turned and strode towards a busy, clamoring street, leaving her no choice but to follow. She hurried after him until she walked by his side again. "Where are we going?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know." He grinned at her. "Wherever you like."

They melded into the bustling crowd, the current carrying them around. The Doctor began to chatter, waving his arms in grand, sweeping motions for emphasis. Donna listened with half an ear, letting the words go in one side and out the other, as she searched for a good place to have a bite to eat.

Suddenly, she realized that she could no longer hear the Doctor and his random stream of information. She stopped, confused, and turned back around to look for him. The Doctor was standing before a small brick shop, staring inside with a glint in his eyes. Donna hurried over. The windows of the shop were covered with ads and posters for cheap haircuts. "What is it?"

"Have I ever told you that I've always wanted to be ginger?"

Donna stared at him. "Um, no."

"Hm, well, I've always wanted to regenerate as a ginger, but I never have. It's rather disappointing. He sighed longingly, and Donna noticed that his eyes were locked on a picture of a man with stylish orange hair. "And then I saw this shop, and I thought, if I can't be naturally ginger, why don't I _make_ myself into one?"

That sounded like a really bad idea to Donna. She just couldn't imagine him with orange hair. It was _weird_. He would regret it, she was sure. Donna opened her mouth to tell him so, but the Doctor had already pulled the door open and stepped inside, the bell jingling merrily overhead.

She groaned and caught the door before it could shut completely. The inside air was humid and filled with the overpowering stench of hair spray and products. Donna gagged slightly and blinked as her eyes began to water. The Doctor was already at the counter, chatting with the female receptionist. She threw back her head and laughed when he said something. Donna saw him flash the psychic paper, and the receptionist nodded eagerly. The next moment, she turned and called for a free stylist. The Doctor looked over at Donna and winked, grinning.

A pretty young girl walked up to the counter. She had perfectly curled blonde hair that fell half way down her back. She cracked her gum and smiled at the Doctor, gesturing for him to follow her.

"I guess I'll just wait here then!" Donna called after them sarcastically.

"Okay, great!" the Doctor replied. The stylist cracked her gum again.

Donna sighed and, rolling her eyes, flopped down on the tiny brown waiting couch. She folded her arms and crossed her legs. What had happened to going to get something to eat?

The minutes ticked by slowly. Donna tapped her fingers and jiggled her feet. She braided, unbraided, and re-braided chunks of her hair over and over. She thought about simply leaving and going to find something to eat by herself.

But finally, finally, the Doctor reappeared with a white towel draped over his head, the stylist right behind him. He was beaming ear to ear like a child on Christmas morning. Donna stood up and stepped towards him. "Well?"

"Just wait till you see!" he said excitedly. "It's awesome!"

He whipped the towel off his head in a dramatic movement. "Ta-da!"

Donna stared at him in shock, her mouth dropping open. He nodded at her eagerly for a response.

"Oh…my…God…" she managed.

The Doctor's hair was a bright, Ron Weasley orange, at odds with his pale face. The blow dryer had left it sticking up in all directions, and it made him look a little like a psycho clown when combined with his grin.

Suffice to say, he looked really odd.

"Well?" he pressed.

"Um…" Donna didn't have the heart to tell him how awful it looked. He seemed so happy. "It looks…nice," she finished, giving him an uncertain smile.

"I knew it!" the Doctor whooped, throwing his arms in the air. "Come on, let's go show it off!"

As he grabbed her hand and yanked her out the door, Donna looked back at the receptionist and the stylist. They were shouting something after the pair angrily and shaking their fists.

Donna allowed herself a victorious grin.

They hadn't paid.


End file.
